Bottoms Up (2 page)

“Then welcome to my world, Destiny. Good times, guaranteed. Give me a night, one night, to show you how much pure pleasure can be found in submission.” The merry devil was back, daring her.

His fingers stroked across her palm, tickling, arousing, centering her awareness on the tiny connection between their bodies. The heat of his hand warmed her cold corners. His touch mesmerized, held her captive, motionless. Her clit throbbed, trapped between its ring and the hard barstool. She knew she must look like a sub already, sinking into her space.

“Destiny?”

She gasped, one word, “Yes.”

“Tomorrow night works for me. Midnight. Wear leather because it suits you, but I’d like to see you in a skirt. Short. No panties. Be ready for anything. You know the drill.” She felt his hand on her arm, everywhere. “I like to play because it’s fun, but I have no tolerance for disobedience. Does that tell you what you need to know?”

She blinked, nodded, and he released her.

“Don’t be late.”

Johnny chuckled and poured a celebratory round for everyone sitting at the bar. Game on. He had been watching the brunette Domme for months. She dressed like a Hell’s Angel, but her perfect face made her look like another kind of angel, one with a heavenly body, indeed. Destiny Blake was a tiny little thing with a reputation for rough play that rivaled his own. All of her boys were at least half in love with her, which proved her skill as a Dominant, but Johnny sensed another side of her, a submissive side. She was a puzzle, that one, and not too many people held that distinction for him.

He watched her leather-clad, heart-shaped ass head back to her booth, where she grabbed her motorcycle helmet from the bench. He expected her to leave, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned toward the bar, staring purposefully into the back corner, meeting the eyes of the blond boy who had been watching her and whimpering all night. She rested her helmet under one arm. The other, she raised above her head.

She snapped her fingers, just once, and turned to the front door.

The boy detached from the shadows and hurried after her. Johnny wasn’t surprised. He would have been amazed if she had been that easy to switch. Still, his eyes narrowed as the door slammed behind them, and he eased up on the wineglass in his hand just before it shattered.

Working behind the bar had taught him a lot about people, especially his kind of people, the deviants. Everyone had their own personal kink, but after watching enough folks come in and out, he could usually guess what they wanted before they asked. Sometimes, like now, with her, he helped them discover their true desires.

Destiny Blake wanted to submit. He could feel it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered with her. Not only that, she wouldn’t have responded to him like she had. Well, she might have come over to talk to him, but only out of courtesy. He did own the bar, after all. But she wouldn’t have trembled. She wouldn’t have gasped, and she damn sure wouldn’t have agreed to meet him tomorrow night.

His instincts about people were rarely wrong, and he’d been watching her for a long time—too long—trying to figure out why she excited him. She wasn’t his kind of girl, after all. He liked his girls obedient and always had, ever since high school when his girlfriend’s reckless defiance had gotten her killed.

He had told Lisa not to climb Glen Falls that night. It was dark, and they had been drinking, but she had blown him off, too caught up in the dare, intent on impressing the older crowd that had begun to join them at their favorite forbidden hangout. He had stood at the bottom, water up to his knees, cursing and begging as she scaled the brittle shale waterfall, too sober and too heavy to follow her—and too slow to catch her when she fell. The shallow water had done that for him, swirling and foaming around her. Fifteen years later, the lesson was still fresh. Don’t give your heart to a woman you can’t trust not to do something stupid.

For years, he’d stayed away from girls completely. Then, in college, he’d stumbled into the right bar on the right night and discovered a whole alternate world of sexuality existing on the fringes of Norton, Buffalo, Rochester, and across the country. Dominance felt as natural to him as his own skin, and submissive women
liked
to be told what to do.

It had been simple to change his college major to business and even easier to get a loan to open his first bar, Uptown, since his banker had mentored him in the Lifestyle. The Downtown bar had come later, after his best friend had finished law school and been able to hammer out the legal ins and outs of running a sex club. It was an elegant solution to his problem. Now he had his pick of safe, submissive women, and he could avoid the girls who looked like trouble.

In other words, he could avoid the girls who looked like Destiny Blake.

It had been a long time since he’d matched wills with a woman, and it was a definite risk. If he was wrong, if she was unable to submit to him, he would have to ignore the fact that his dick got hard when he caught sight of her dreadlocks. He would have to stop making excuses to walk by her booth several times a night just to catch a whiff of her spicy scent. He would have to erase the mental image of her motorcycle boots parked under his bed.

Destiny had shot him a fiery, flickering glance of defiance before she sailed out the door with that blond boy tonight. Were his instincts wrong? Was he wasting his time with her?

He didn’t think so, but it was worth the risk to satisfy his curiosity. One night couldn’t hurt, but it might be enlightening—for her, he hoped. He’d give her a taste of submission and they’d find out pretty damn quick whether her defiance was skin-deep or bone-deep. He devoutly hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him.

Chapter Two

Destiny tipped the cab driver and nodded her thanks, cursing Johnny under her breath. Wearing a short leather skirt with no underwear had made it impossible to ride her bike to the club tonight. One more way for him to take charge of her. Now she had no way to get home unless he gave her a ride, or she called a friend, or another cab.

Her bare thighs rubbed together and a breeze cooled the moisture where they joined. She was wet. Ironic, considering the sub she had taken home last night had been unable to coax the barest response from her pussy.

In spite of that, she had taken her time with him. She had rewarded him for the eagerness he had shown leaving the bar, but their play had been all technique. He hadn’t known, since she didn’t always allow her subs to make her come. She liked the focus to be on them, on satisfying their needs. Her own needs came second, and last night, not at all.

Nope, her needs hadn’t made themselves known until right now. She feared that the first step she took toward the door of the bar was going to make her crave the second step, and the next, until walking became public masturbation.

Of course, it was only eleven, and Johnny wasn’t expecting her until midnight. She could slip around the side of the building and take the edge off if she wanted to. It wouldn’t take much. A quick tug on her ring would probably give her an instant orgasm.

Strangely, that idea didn’t have as much appeal as walking into the bar to find Johnny. She refused to think about the implications of that fact.

Destiny paused inside the first set of doors while the bouncer checked her ID and entered the number into his laptop. Newcomers were taken through the next set of doors and seated at a small table where the rules were laid out for them. If they wanted to stay, they signed a consent form. No exceptions.

Old news to her.

“Destiny.” The bouncer’s eyes slid over her.

Instead of her motorcycle boots, she wore tall, black leather boots that hugged her calves and added four inches to her height. Johnny would still tower over her, even in the boots, but they were comforting nonetheless.

The black leather bustier she was wearing had been inspired by the one her co-worker, Crystal, had worn to work today. It was more metal than leather, with rows of fine mesh chain sewn snugly around the bodice and wider chains roping and separating her breasts. The front and back dipped in sharp points while the sides flared over her lean hips. Although the exaggerated style flattered her spare frame, giving her the curves she admired on other women, the points in front had another purpose. They concealed strong metal clips that served as attachments for the crotch chain that she had slung around her waist as a belt.

The chain was her private rebellion. She’d wear the sub gear, but not as it was meant to be worn, not completely.

The bouncer held the door open for her.

“Thanks, Mac.”

“My pleasure, Destiny.” She heard a curious note in his voice and glanced at the man whose mature, red dreads made her fashionable plaits look childish in comparison. The speculative look he cast over the top of his dark shades made her catch her breath. He hadn’t called her
Mistress
. She imagined she heard a chuckle as the door swung shut behind her.

How had he known? Anger flared until she saw Johnny twirling sleek bottles behind the bar, playing to the crowd. Her body swelled in anticipation, recognition. No need to freak out—she had chosen this.

Johnny had been forcing the edges of her awareness for months, getting closer, making her pay attention, and now that she knew his sun sign, she knew why he affected her so strongly.

Aries and Leos were perfectly compatible, strength feeding strength, both positive, true sun signs. In the abstract, a Leo was just about the only sign she could imagine topping her, but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy for either of them.

Destiny crossed the bar and sat down in front of Johnny.

He was wearing leather tonight too. Tight rock-star pants with studs instead of grommets to hold them together. The well-broken-in leather fit him like it had been poured over his flesh, cupping his firm ass, caressing his broad thighs and pooling into the black motorcycle boots on his feet.

Instead of a shirt, his tattoos adorned his rippling arms. The colorful Celtic designs, done in red, green, black and orange, arrowed down his back and made his upper body loom large and powerful above his tight waist. His hips were slung with a chain, like hers, and his nipples were pierced with small rings identical to the one she had nestled between her legs.

Her heart beat fast. She gazed up at him, trying to keep her breathing smooth and steady.

“A shot of Patrón, please,” she ordered.

“You know better than that.” He placed a glass of ice water in front of her.

Her jaw dropped. How had she forgotten such a basic rule? Destiny shut her mouth and took a sip of the cold water.

“Good girl.” His words made her squirm with something that felt like pleasure. She gasped, clit throbbing.

He stabbed a glance at the clock behind the bar. “Fuck it,” he said. “Dane, I’m out.”

The other bartender nodded. “Gotcha, Boss.”

Johnny lifted the counter and stepped out from behind the bar. “Let’s go.”

She followed him down the narrow hallway that led to the restrooms. She had never noticed there was another door just before the emergency exit at the end of the dim hall. Johnny unlocked the door with a key hanging from the chain at his waist. He gestured for her to precede him and she did, conscious of her short skirt, lack of panties and the steepness of the stairs.

“Pervert,” she hissed over her shoulder.

His chuckle made the air vibrate between them.

She could hear Moby throbbing at the top of the stairs. The sensual techno, a favorite of hers, filled her with dread and anticipation. Her nipples chafed beneath the bustier, and her pussy felt wetter with every step. She kept her eyes on the door at the top of the stairs, imagining her pupils must be as wide as dinner plates by now, as wide as the eyes of one of her own eager subs.

Yes, she had chosen this, but it was difficult to quell the panic that threatened to rise above her arousal. Her shoulders were tight, and it felt like she had a steel rod in place of her neck.
You
want
this adventure
, she reminded herself.

A good Dom would know how to handle her tension. In his place, she knew just what she would do. She would get her down into subspace, fast, and let the endorphins do their work. What would he do?

She took the last step and Johnny reached around her to open the door.

The large, dim playroom she entered was no rabbit warren like she had imagined last night. Instead, it was a posh living room with an enormous leather sectional couch facing a huge, wall-mounted television. The naked, writhing crowd on the couch gave the phrase “Mongolian clusterfuck” a whole new meaning for her. Every inch was covered in bare flesh, making it look like a snake pit of sucking and fucking.

“It’s orgy night.” Johnny shrugged.

No one seemed to be watching the muted television, which, oddly enough, was showing the latest James Bond film. Screen-in-screen technology displayed private rooms. She counted six, including this one. Four smaller rooms held in-progress BDSM scenes. The last room displayed a huge, empty bed with a scrolled iron headboard.

In a small kitchen off to one side, a man in a business suit stood staring into his wineglass. Destiny recognized him from the downstairs bar. A guy in an expensive suit stood out in that crowd, even if he wore it as comfortably as the rest of them wore their leather.

The man glanced up, cool, gray eyes unsurprised. He nodded. “Hey, John.”

“Matt.” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “You pick the movie?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Having a good time?” Johnny asked.

It was an odd question, considering the circumstances. Matt lifted one shoulder. “Give me a minute.” He downed his wine and set the glass on the counter. His brooding demeanor disappeared so quickly she might have imagined it, replaced with expectant sensuality. He walked toward the living room, loosening his tie.

Two naked women immediately detached themselves from the tangle of bodies on the couch, as if they had been waiting for him. They met him in the center of the room. One hit her knees, reaching for his belt, and the other moved to embrace him from behind to finish unbuttoning his shirt.